Painter’s Obsession

27. Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Seven

Byron

I clench my teeth together, my body taut, every muscle screaming against the tension. I try to focus on anything but him on his knees in front of me as he cleans me up, so fucking slowly. The rag drags against my skin, leaving trails of cold water that send shivers crawling down my spine. My chest tightens, and I force myself to think of anything else—anything but the humiliation burning in my veins.

Suddenly, my body runs cold, and the pain of my cock from the erection twists into something darker—twisted ecstasy. This is bad. So fucking bad.

He’s going to notice—he has to notice my cock twitching with excitement. Because I’m fucking sick. I want him, no matter what excuse I try to conjure. Because I’m sick... I’m not a man.

Warm hands suddenly grab my cock, the sharp pain shooting through me like a live wire. My breath hitches, my chest tightening as his grip hardens. The shame burns like acid, pooling in my stomach.

“I told you I don’t like to repeat myself,” he sneers, his voice dripping with malice. The mask slips entirely, revealing the void underneath. His onyx eyes, flat and soulless, bore into mine, their darkness suffocating. I swear I can feel him peeling back the layers of my resolve, digging into me like he owns me.

I gnash my teeth harder, every muscle straining, as he continues to apply pressure around the swollen head of my cock. I don’t have to look down to know—Ren is holding my erection firm in his grasp.

“What do you want to know?” I spit the words through gritted teeth, the anger in my voice thin and cracking.

“First, the obvious.” His smirk deepens, his gaze shifting to his hand wrapped around my cock. “Do you want me?”

“No.” The word comes out too fast, too sharp. The lie is obvious even to my own ears.

“Liar,” he breathes, soft and smug, his voice low like a predator’s purr. I don’t bother to look at him. I can’t. Shame, disgust, and something worse—pride—keep me frozen in place. My mind screams at me to fight back, but my body betrays me again.

Suddenly, I’m back in my parents’ room, on all fours on their bed, my father’s brown leather belt cutting through the air before landing with a crack on my bare ass. The sting. The heat. The humiliation. My fists clench reflexively at the memory, and he must notice because his smirk widens.

“Whatever you do to me,” he says, looking up at me with a gentle, almost warm smile, his almond eyes crinkling. So eerily beautiful. “I’ll do to her, ten times worse.”

Gabriela.

My gut twists painfully at the thought, my resolve hardening like steel. She’s the leash, the safety blanket that ensures I behave.

One thing is clear-when I strike, I have to strike to kill. There’s no room for error. For my sister’s sake, I need to end him, even if it kills me. That’s my promise.

His hand trails the washcloth up my hip, over my happy trail, and down to my pelvis until it moves over my erect length, still in his grasp. The cold, soapy water drips onto my skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his touch.

“Another question,” he murmurs, his voice almost casual. “Have you ever been with a man?”

I don’t answer, my lips pressed into a tight line. His nails dig into my stitches, a sharp pain tearing through me and forcing me to double over.

I laugh, the sound hollow and bitter. Looking up at him, I snap, “Mommy didn’t love you. Is that why you do this?”

The change in him is instant. The darkness in his expression deepens, swallowing any trace of smugness. His grip loosens for a moment, and his body stills, his calm demeanor as ominous as the quiet before a storm.

Ren chuckles, the sound low and dangerous, dropping the rag into the soapy mixture. He stands, brushing his raven hair back from his face with slow, deliberate movements. Without a word, he walks to the hose and then the sound of rushing water fills the room.

The icy spray hits me like needles, the cold shocking my skin and stealing my breath. I gasp, shivering uncontrollably as the water runs over my raw flesh.

“I guess I hit a nerve,” I taunt, forcing the words out between chattering teeth.

The water cuts off abruptly, and I don’t register the blow until I’m doubling over, his knee slamming into my sore stomach. The pain is blinding, white-hot, and I collapse forward, my body trembling as black spots dance in my vision. Hunger and thirst have sapped my strength, and I’m nothing more than a plaything for him now.

Grabbing me by the back of my neck, his voice drops to a venomous growl. “Mother loved me the most. I was her beautiful boy.”

Using my neck and the chain, he forces me into the same position I used to be punished in. My stomach churns as my head presses against the wet tiles of the floor.

“No!” I thrash weakly, already knowing where this is headed.

“I’m going to teach you,” he snaps, slamming my head harder into the tiles. “The way she taught me. And you will learn to obey.”

His free hand moves back to my shaft, his fingers digging into the swollen flesh. Blood seeps from the stitches, slick and warm. Using the crimson fluid, he moves his fingers to his lips. The wet sound of him spitting echoes in my ears.

“You don’t have to do this,” I snarl, my voice raw. My body bucks weakly against him. “You can suck my cock.”

Laughter erupts from him, sharp and cruel. “Who said I wanted to do that?” His finger probes my tight entrance, and my body goes rigid from the intrusion.

“You know what I wanted to do?” he sneers, his voice mockingly sweet. “Paint. Get to know you.”

“Okay,” I breathe, my voice trembling. “What do you want to know?”

He leans down, his breath hot against my skin, the faint scent of iron and something darker filling the space between us. “How your ass feels when I bury myself to the hilt,” he murmurs, his voice low and cruel, dripping with promise.

Then I feel it—his fingers forcing their way inside me. A ring of fire envelops my asshole as he stretches me, the burn sharp and unrelenting, tearing a groan from my throat.

“You’re so tight,” he coos, his tone soft, almost gentle, as if he weren’t ripping me apart. I groan again, the sound breaking halfway between pain and something far more fucked up—pleasure.

I try to resist, clenching my fists until my nails dig into my palms, but it’s useless. My father’s words slam into me with each thrust of Ren’s fingers, like blows I can’t escape. “No son of mine will grow up to be a fag.” Smack. The belt connects with my ass, the sting searing my skin. “You’re a man. Not a bitch.”

But the pain from the erection straining against my stomach, the precum leaking from the tip, and the obscene, involuntary sounds he pulls from my lips tell a different story. I am his bitch.

“Oh, you like it?” he teases, his breath brushing against my ear as his teeth sink into my ass cheek. I shudder, his fingers stretching me wider, curling, probing. I don’t fight—not anymore. Despite the shame coursing through me like poison, my body responds. I am the puppet and he is the master.

His free hand curls beneath me, wrapping around my cock. His touch is firm but deliberate, avoiding the stitches. “One of my many lessons,” he says, his voice thick with mock tenderness, “was to learn to please her. To show her how much I loved her through my touch. Can you feel it?”

I moan as his hand moves along the stitches, the sting of the pain mixing with the unbearable heat. Every nerve in my body burns, my mind splintering under the weight of it all.

“Did he hit you because you’re gay?” he asks suddenly, his voice sharpening.

I tense, my body bucking reflexively. I try to lift my head, but he slams it back down onto the cold tile, the impact ringing in my ears. “Don’t fucking move.”

“So what?” I snarl through gritted teeth, spit flying from my lips. “You rape others because she did that to you?”

“Rape?” He pauses mid-motion, his fingers still inside me. For a moment, the room falls deathly silent except for the sound of my ragged breathing. “It’s not rape when you want it. When you need it.” His voice drops, soft and venomous. “But you’ll understand that very soon.”

With that, he pulls back slightly, his fingers leaving me, and I feel the loss like a reprieve I didn’t earn. One hand pins my head to the ground while the other guides his cock to my puckered hole. Warm saliva drips onto my entrance, sliding down in slow, humiliating rivulets.

The anticipation swirls inside me like a storm. I don’t fight. I don’t beg. I will not break—not the way he wants me to. If he thinks he can destroy me with his cock, he’s wrong. One way or another, I will end him. That’s my promise.

The pressure builds, his cock nudging my entrance before pushing inside without hesitation. The pain is sharp, a searing intrusion that steals my breath.

“You bleed so beautifully for me,” he whispers, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. His thrusts are harsh, punishing, each one sending fresh shocks of pain through me. His free hand wraps around my cock again, stroking in time with his movements.

I try to resist, clenching my jaw until it aches, but the warmth gathers in my core, coiling tighter and tighter. My body betrays me, and a moan slips from my lips before I can stop it.

Ren’s breath hitches, his movements growing erratic. “I’m going to breed you,” he growls, his voice shaking with barely restrained lust. “You don’t need to get pregnant or be a woman for me to fill you with my seed.”

The words send a wave of disgust crashing over me, but it’s too late. The pleasure overwhelms the pain, and I feel myself tipping over the edge.

Ren thrusts one final time, his cock jolting inside me as warmth spills deep within. I cry out, my own release spilling into his hand as my body convulses.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, lifting my head from the ground. My face burns as he forces me to look at my reflection in the tile. My tan cheeks are flushed, my eyes hooded with the aftershocks of pleasure, my lips parted like I’ve been begging for more.

“You’ve been lying to yourself all this time, Byron,” he says, smirking as he pumps one final time and pulls out. “You want this. You want me.”

He lets me fall to the cold tile, the sharp contrast biting into my skin. Cum slides from between my legs, sticky and hot, a grotesque reminder of what just happened. I curl into a fetal position, the shame weighing heavier than the bruises.

I watch as he grabs a white canvas and sits across from me, the pencil in his hand moving in steady strokes. “You’ll understand,” he says softly, not even looking up from his work. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll understand everything.”